Recovery
by 8ounce
Summary: Aubrey's recovery. Rated T for explicit reference to abuse. May be triggering for some readers.


_Click!_ The dry sound of my father hanging up the phone mid-conversation dredged up tears that I refused to let fall. Because he had ties with several of my professors, he had once again learned ahead of time that my grades were less than satisfactory. My room swam before me as I blinked desperately to keep myself from crying. I knew what would happen this weekend. I would go home to visit him, like I did every weekend.

"Bree! I need an opinion on...hey, are you okay?" A head popped into my room, disturbing my dismal train of thought. I quickly stretched a smile across my face.

"Fine. Thinking about midterms. What did you need an opinion on?" I asked, carefully removing any traces of tears from my voice.

"I'm doing some assignments. Do you like "bruises blossoming across" better, or "bruises surfacing across"?" The redhead asked, a look of indecision across her face. I tried to avoid images and flashbacks of the bruising currently still on my body, covered up by my choice of hoodie today.

"Um...I like the first." I nodded, clearing my throat. Chloe shot me a strange look.

"You sure you're okay? Cause you do that thing where you say you're okay and you're not actually okay and it's really confusing and I don't know..." Her voice trailed off as she rambled nervously, nibbling on a fingernail. I nodded, returning my focus to my paper on composers from the Romantic era.

"I'm fine, Chlo. Don't worry." I smiled, already tapping away on the keys.

* * *

"The prodigal daughter returns." As soon as I slipped through the door, my father slurred drunkenly at me, sneering at me from the couch. I shook my head.

"I didn't choose to leave. You sent me away." I muttered, slipping the duffel bag off my shoulder onto the floor. A clammy hand grasped my chin like a vice, tilting my head roughly upwards.

"You look at me when you talk to me. I am your father." He growled, alcohol melding his words together. I could smell the cheap tequila on his breath.

"You're drunk." I stated, trying to move my chin from his grasp. A palm met my face in an instant, snapping my head to the left. A familiar fire lit my cheek as I stumbled.

"Apologize!" He snapped, winding up again. My eyes moved away from his.

"I'm sorry." I whispered, not trusting my voice. I gasped as my head snapped to the left again, the sound of impact ringing in my ears.

"Look at me!" His hands fisted in my shirt and shoved me against a wall. The breath left my lungs as my body slammed against the surface. My eyes shifted to his bloodshot ones, and I swallowed nervously as I saw the burn of anger.

"I'm sorry." I whispered hoarsely. I knew the side of my face was swollen already.

"Damn right you should be sorry, you little bitch. You should be taking care of _me_. Instead, you're wasting your money on some shit education in _music_." He hissed, as his fist connected with my abdomen. I wiped my face clean of any expression, gritting my teeth together to stop any noise from escaping. I knew what was about to happen already. And as his fist connected again and again to my body, I found myself wondering, vaguely, if he would actually kill me someday.

* * *

"Bree?" Stacie peered at me as I started, lost in my own thoughts. She was crouched in front of me, a look of concern on her face. I was sitting, alone on a park bench. I had only just gotten back to campus, after spending the weekend at my father's house. "Bree, can we talk?" The cold bit at my skin, but it was welcome relief from the fire that had lit it such a short time ago. I shook my head, picking up my bag and making to leave.

"No, sorry. I have to get back and finish this paper." I stood, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

"Aubrey." My name rolled off her tongue, softly. My eyes snapped to hers. She moved to stand in front of me, her hands finding mine. "There's something going on with you."

"No, there's nothing. I've been stressed about recitals coming up." I smiled, sliding my hands out of her grasp. Her head tilted as she studied me, her eyes roaming over my face. After a moment, she spoke again.

"So the faint handprint on your face is, what, exactly? A sweet caress from a lover?" She asked, her sarcasm stinging me with its edge. I turned away quickly, her words cutting. I ran, my feet pounding on the pavement below me, supposedly taking me back home. I could hear her, as she continued to call my name.

* * *

"Aubrey Posen." My voice emotionless, as I tapped the screen on my phone to answer it. I saw the caller ID. I knew who it was.

"Aubrey, I've been hearing about a singing group." His voice was menacing, threatening even. We had discussed my involvement in groups outside my studies. The parameters were this: I wasn't allowed to be in any. I waited, with bated breath, for him to continue. After a long silence, he did. "Quit." I breathed a sigh of relief as he didn't mention another visit.

"Y-yes, Father." I stammered, simultaneously heartbroken and relieved. I collapsed on my bed as he hung up, the sound of the slamming phone ringing in my ear. Shoving a pillow against my face, I sobbed as I realized what had to happen.

* * *

"What do you mean you can't do the Bellas anymore?" Beca exclaimed, a look of pure disbelief screaming on her face. Stacie's jaw dropped.

"I-I...I just haven't had time. And...a-and I think you would be better off with this anyway." I handed over the pitch pipe to the DJ, swallowing hard. I had rehearsed this in my head, but nothing had prepared me for the hurt on everybody's faces.

"No. No way in _hell_ I'm taking that. _You're_ the one who started this, Aubrey!" Beca yelled, gesturing wildly. Swiftly, Chloe moved towards the girl.

"Shhh...babe, just calm down. I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for this." The redhead soothed her girlfriend, softly wrapping her in a hug.

"I'm sorry." I whispered harshly. It seemed every time I apologized it was with a whisper. I was such a coward, unable to stand up for what I loved.

"Aubrey..." Stacie's quiet murmur reached my ear as she moved towards me. I shook my head and, once again, slung my bag over my shoulder. I walked swiftly out of the rehearsal hall.

* * *

"Aubrey!" I was halfway across campus to my room when I turned to see Stacie running after me.

"What?" I asked, exasperated. "I'm not taking the pipe back." I rolled my eyes as I adjusted the strap on my shoulder unnecessarily.

"We need to talk." Stacie panted, still winded from having chased me down.

"No. We most definitely do not." I bit out, turning on my heel to leave once more. I gasped, as a hand suddenly wrapped tightly around my forearm. In a panic, I shook my entire arm violently to release myself, the flashbacks suddenly flooding my mind. My breathing sped up, and my entire body shook as I now tried to escape my father. I cowered, folding myself into a tight ball as I waited for the blows to come. Spots swam in front of my eyes, and suddenly all I could see was darkness.

* * *

I groaned as I awoke, my eyelids feeling like they were weighted down. I sat up quickly as I realized I wasn't in a room I recognized, looking around frantically. My eyes landed on Stacie, and I sighed.

"You scared me." She said quietly, curled up on a desk chair. She surveyed me, her head tilted slightly to the side. For a while, we just stared at each other, until I shivered, pulling the blankets around myself. I realized, with a jolt, that my hoodie was gone. "It's in the hall closet." Stacie murmured, when she saw me looking around.

"I can explain—"

"—no." Stacie cut me off abruptly. She stood in front of me. "Who is it?"

"I...I d-don't understand..." I mumbled, my eyes flitting to look everywhere except for her. She crouched, putting herself directly in my line of sight.

"Aubrey." She said softly, putting a hand gently on the side of my face. "Who is it?" I closed my eyes tightly, in a futile effort to keep the tears at bay. One leaked out and slid down my cheek. A warm thumb gently wiped it away.

"Father." I breathed, my eyes still closed.

"Open your eyes, Bree." She waited patiently, still crouched in front of me, as I slowly opened my eyes. "I am Stacie Conrad. I am not your dad. I am Stacie Conrad. And I love you." My breath hitched as I felt myself dissolve in sobs. "Shhh...it's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you." She pulled me into her arms and I buried my face in her shoulder, letting out almost twenty years of pain and anger. Eventually, I cried myself to sleep. Not that I remember at all. All I remember is someone holding me, for the first time in almost fifteen years.

* * *

"That's Rachmaninoff, isn't it?" I looked up from the piano as I saw Stacie leaning against the doorway. I nodded, a little surprised. She padded quietly across the room and sat down, leaning against the wall. She closed her eyes, gesturing for me to continue. I took a deep breath, and continued woodshedding the piece, my fingers running hesitantly over the keys, sometimes stopping and sighing in frustration. After a while, I forgot Stacie was sitting there, and I moved on to a Chopin nocturne, purely for pleasure. I felt myself settle into the piece, my body doing what I had trained it to do; automatically pouring emotion into the piece. "You're really good." I jumped, startled. The piece had ended a while ago, and I had forgotten there was another person here. I shot Stacie a look of confusion, wondering how she knew the pieces, the composers, and enough to judge my ability.

"...how?"

"I'm a music history major. 3rd year." She smiled, her eyes still closed. "I'm specializing in the Romantic era."

"I...wow." I spoke quietly. "I had no idea."

"It's okay. People generally assume I'm a ditz." She laughed to herself. I moved to sit in front of her.

"Stacie?" I asked hesitantly, not entirely sure how this was going to end.

"Hmm?" She opened her eyes, the startling bright green finding my face.

"I'm...scared." I pushed the words out, rubbing my arms through the sleeves of my hoodie unconsciously. She opened her arms expectantly, and I shuffled to bury myself in her warmth.

"Are you scared of him or of yourself?" She said, after a moment. I briefly thought about how much I should say.

"Myself."

"Keep going." She could tell I wanted to continue.

"I have nightmares." I said, my voice small. "And flashbacks. Whenever someone triggers me."

"You're scared that you, subconsciously, like it." She murmured. I nodded.

"I'm scared that I think that's love." I sniffed. She closed her eyes, biting her lip. After a long, painful silence, she opened her eyes.

"Aubrey, what's love?" She asked, looking directly into my eyes. I squirmed, uncomfortable with the question.

"It's...love is...when you'd do anything for a person without even thinking twice. It's when you...accept the faults and live with them. Love is...love is never momentary. It lasts." I stammered my way through it, saying what I thought she would want to hear.

"Great. Now what do _you_ think love is?" She smiled. "I know you were patronizing me, babe." I froze at the endearment, my brain running a hundred miles a minute.

"I..." I cut off my own words.

"Aubrey..." She sighed. "I'm not some kid who will run away because you just happen to have a different mindset than I do." I chewed on my lip thoughtfully.

"You...promise?" I offered her my pinkie. A laugh shook through her body as she hooked her finger with mine and kept my hand in hers.

"Now tell me what you think love is, Bree."

"Love...is never giving up. Love is seeing that there are things that are wrong, but trying to find a middle ground. Love is hurting someone unintentionally and feeling like the lowest sort of scum on the planet. Love is crying together, for one person's pain." I rambled, the words flowing from my mouth as I spoke. When I finished, I looked at her. She was giggling. I furrowed my brow, wondering what I said wrong.

"Aubrey, how many of those qualities can you find in your father?" She asked, her hand smoothing slow patterns on my bruised abdomen. I shook my head.

"It's not that simple."

"I know, babe. But this is the first step." Stacie kissed my temple. I leaned my head against her chest, letting the constant heartbeat calm me.

* * *

"Goodbye, father." I called, wincing as my ribs expanded with the breath. I wrapped an arm carefully around myself as I hobbled slowly out of the house to my car, clutching my bag weakly. My phone buzzed repeatedly, but I ignored it, hell-bent on starting my car and leaving as soon as possible. As I sped through the night, I relaxed with every mile I put between myself and him. I drove through the dark, my head muddled from the amount of times I had it smashed into the wall. When I finally arrived at the parking lot outside of my apartment, the flashbacks had already started. I sat, rigid, in my car as they flooded the insides of my eyelids, like a sick sort of movie. I slumped against my steering wheel as I passed out, the darkness at the corners of my mind taking over.

* * *

The insistent tapping at the window was what woke me. I winced at the light that flooded through the car, fumbling with my window to roll it down.

"Did you sleep in here last night?" Stacie asked, reaching through the window to trace the bruises on my cheek with her thumb. She winced visibly, hissing to herself. I shook my head slowly, careful to not throw up.

"I just kinda passed out."

"Will you call me next time?" Her voice was gentle, concerned. I nodded, slipping my hood over my head and grabbing my bag, exiting my car. I wobbled unsteadily on my feet as I stood. Suddenly, I lurched over and vomited in the empty space beside my car. "You need to go to the hospital." She took my keys and lifted me in her arms, depositing me gently into the passenger seat as she started the car. I protested weakly, as I wiped at my mouth with a shaky hand. "Babe, you look like you have a concussion." She stated, as she raced out of the parking lot. I closed my eyes weakly. "_Don't close your eyes!_" She said firmly, as she watched me through the corner of her eye. The car lurched as she braked suddenly, in front of the hospital. She picked me up again, despite my protests, and ran into the emergency room. "My fiancée has a concussion." She stated curtly to the receptionist. I was wheeled away quickly, my hand clutching Stacie's as she jogged beside me. "I'll be back." She whispered as she kissed me lightly on the cheek, when the doctor had stated expressly that she was not allowed in the examination room.

* * *

"Hey, how are you feeling?" The brunette was a welcome sight as she sauntered into the room, stopping to grab a chair. She sat down and immediately reached for my hand. I shrugged, sighing. "I hope you didn't mind the 'fiancée' bit, I was trying to get priority to visit you." She grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of her neck. "I think maybe we should call Beca and Chloe." At the widening of my eyes, she continued quickly. "Because I think they're concerned. And they've been through enough with you to deserve to know." I took a deep breath.

"I don't know..." I croaked, wincing at my bruised neck. Stacie shook her head, shushing me.

"Don't talk. It's okay. We can call them later." She lay her head down on the bed. "Shh...I'm tired. I stayed up all night waiting for you." With a twitch at the corners of her mouth, she fell asleep, her fingers wrapped around mine. I sighed, staring at the ceiling; wondering how I got here, wondering when it got this bad. Suddenly, the mass of light brown locks on my mattress shifted. "You're on your way to recovery, Aubrey. You're bound to fall down sometimes. But I'll always be here for you. Cause I love you." She mumbled, her words muffled in her hair.

"I love you too." I rasped, grinning as her head shot up, eyes wide. I motioned for her to move closer, as if to tell her something. When she was close enough, I grabbed her face in both of my hands and pressed my lips against hers. "I love you." I smiled, knowing in my heart that it would be difficult, but I would get through it, with her by my side.


End file.
